


Klancemas 2019

by TheOccasionalSquirrel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOccasionalSquirrel/pseuds/TheOccasionalSquirrel
Summary: based on my friend teddy's 2019 Klancemas prompts
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teddy_parade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_parade/gifts).



> There were 31 different prompts on this list, unfortunately I only had the time for a few of them because university is killing me :)

day one: first snow

“This is not how I wanted to show you the first snow,” he whispers, fearing his voice might fail him if he tries to be louder. 

The first snowflake hits like a stone through a window pane, but instead of glass, Keith’s resolve shatters.

Snow gathers slowly on the statue- the once-soft hair and high cheekbones, the blue painted armor, the three orphans clutching at the hero’s arm.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this, never like this. But then again, only death was set in stone. 

Keith would have laughed at the irony, but loss had stolen his laughter and happiness. Death had swept in, cruel and merciless, and made Lance a legend.

But what good was a legend to the ones he left behind? You cannot kiss a legend. You cannot hold it, and it will not smile at you. A Legend cannot hug his mother, a Legend cannot yearn, it does not desire.

A legend is a statue that will not melt the snow that lands on its cheek. A legend cannot wipe the tear off of the cheek of his lover, either.

Keith’s cheeks turn red and blotchy and the sweet melted snowflakes mix in to hide his salty tears. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Lance,” It was all my fault. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my-

“Keith?” A voice calls for him. It is gentle and knowing. “Aren’t you cold?” Shiro asks, a jacket already ready in his hands.

‘I’ve been cold since the day he died. I have buried all my warmth with him’ Keith wants to say, but Shiro already knows that. Wordlessly, he takes the jacket and puts it on, offering Shiro a small smile in return. It is a fragile thing, but he tries, and it is all that matters for now. 

“Come on,” Shiro says, wrapping an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Let’s get you inside.”

Somewhere, in a distant galaxy, a legend will inspire courage and bravery. A Hero’s story will be told and retold as details are made up and lost like they are in all good stories. A great blue paladin of ice will be known for his kindness and warmth, his sacrifice.

And in a different place, not very far, Keith will remember his boyfriend as he watches the first snow fall.


	2. Chapter 2

“There is a story my grandmother told me in letters. And there was another story my nursemaid enchanted me with when I couldn’t sleep as a child. And another story, painted all over my bedroom wall,” he gestured with his hand, the rings on his hand catching the light in peculiar angles his new maid couldn’t help but follow. 

“What was the story?” she asked once she’d noticed Lance’s attention back on her. 

“Once it was _The Thorn and The Mouse_ , and once it was _The Ruby_ -”

“But those are not the same story?” the maid cut him off, and Lance blinked at her. 

_Rude_. 

She blushed and looked away, and so he continued. 

“The _core_ of the story was always the same,” he shrugged on his coat and checked his makeup- everything had to be _perfect_ for tonight. 

The maid fussed over nonexistent wrinkles on his suit until he dismissed her and she gathered the boxes his clothing and cosmetics were in previously. As she was about to leave through the door though, she stopped and looked at Lance, the look in her eyes expecting. 

“And what _is_ at the core of every story?” 

“Is it not obvious?” Lance asked, his eyes fixed on the ring on his finger. It was a piece of art, really. A beautiful gold starburst with a raw ruby in the middle- he would be lying if he said he hadn’t cut himself on it more than once. “Love,” he sighed and stood up. “It is love.”

Lance had known since he was little that marrying for love was not an option- and yet, every night he prayed to the stars they might grant him a small miracle. He’d always done as he was told, he respected his mother, the queen, and endured her moving him around courts and balls like a marionette. He accepted every dance and duel and kiss no matter how bitter they were, because he always had hope.

He always had Keith, in the gardens, to hold and kiss with no one but the stars as their witness.

And so, he prayed, when Keith left to play general and Lance was left with a few hours before the morning star arrived. 

His prayers were murmured desire and kisses to a ring and not yet the boy he wanted. The boy he needed.

_Please._

The ball is extravagant. Courtiers painted in red and blue and gold. 

Lance bows before his mother like a good prince. He kisses her hand and listens to her orders like a good son. 

_Please_.

He does as he is told and dances with the foreign princess, and she winks at him, just as planned. He is a good prince, a good son, a loyal lover.

_Please._

And just past midnight, when the lights are dimmed and the hall erupts in chaos, Lance becomes a good prisoner.

  
  
  
  
  


_Please_. 

_Please_.

_Please_.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“And then you were all like, _’Nooo, please don’t kidnap me_ ’ _,_ ” the crew erupts in laughter at Pidge’s impersonation of Lance, the recently kidnapped prince of Altea, and the former prince chuckles as well. 

Prince Hunk, who played a key role in Lance’s escape/kidnapping, rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “He’ll join us soon, too, okay?” he reassures and Lance nods, not trusting his voice. It is still a bit too much- he can’t believe he is free. He can’t believe they’re _both_ free.

“Just a few short months,” Hunk says. “We’ll be busy anyway, you won’t even notice he’s gone.”

Hunk means well, he does. Lance hugs him but leaves soon enough to get some fresh air and to look at the stars. He murmurs a prayer and kisses a ring instead of a boy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Please._

  
  
  


To say the court is in shambles would be an understatement. Keith watches control and power unravel as they scramble to find invisible threats and thieves and _Lance_. The prince made of gold and honey lost in an evening without a trace.

To say that Keith is proud of all of them would also be an understatement. But that is not something he dares to show. Instead, he makes his way to the throne room, where he drops to one knee as soon as the doors close.

The carpet, as always, is beautiful.

“General.” Is the only word the Queen utters, but it is more than enough. He stands, taking in her appearance. She is less of a mother in mourning than a queen strategizing. A part of him pities the woman she was before she became queen- someone who had taken in orphans as sons and generals and had passionately petitioned for the betterment of her subject’s living conditions- all fire and passion now dulled to cold and calculating ashes.

“It was my fault-”

“Don’t even start with that, general,” she said sharply. “You were never one for passionate speeches. You were one for action, isn’t that right?” She stood up and walked towards him, the swishing of her dress about as loud as the courtier’s murmurs.

All he could do was nod.

“What is it you came to me for?” she said, loud enough only for him to hear.

“I ask your blessing, your majesty,” he lowered his head. “I vow to find Prince Lance, I vow to never stop until he is found again. I have vowed before I would give my life for his safety, allow me to spend my life looking for him.”

“You would dedicate your life,” she said, voice coated in disbelief, “to my son?”

“Yes, your majesty,” he answered, and in that moment he felt seen. As if the Queen could see right through him and see all their little plans and schemes-

“Then so be it,” she declared and turned back to sit on her throne. “Sir Keith will not be allowed to return to court until he has found my son, Prince Lance Serrano of Altea.”

“Your soul is made of stars and poetry,” Lance whispered one evening, pressing a kiss to his husband’s black hair as they lay there, a tangle of limbs and blankets.

“Now who’s the poet?” Keith teased, looking up from his book to catch adoration making a home in his husband’s blue eyes.

“I am not a poet,” Lance said, reaching out to take Keith’s hand in his own. “I am simply, happy,” he smiled and brought their joint hands up to his lips, leaving a kiss on Keith’s starburst ring.

_There was a story told to me in letters by various spies and thieves. Of a honey-colored boy and his raven-haired lover. And I let them be, as any good mother would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith: i vow to not return to court until i have found ur son
> 
> keith: i did nOT vow to return with him, so im gonna live on this idyllic estate as a poet with my wonderful husband for the rest of my life


	3. day 16: traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mothman, he's a man who's a moth  
> i said  
> mothman, he's a moth who's a man  
> i said  
> mOTHKEITH

Transformation did not care for the angry and volatile, for the vicious and violent. It wanted care and gentleness, and tender love and warmth. 

One would not think of the moth prince as gentle or as kind, but his wings were oh so soft and tender, as if the gentlest brush of a fingertip would tear them. His eyes appeared red in the darkness, and in daylight they did not appear at all. And one might think this is damning proof of his monstrosity, but the moth prince was terribly, painfully human in his vulnerability.

And so, as traditions state, the red eyed winged creature of the night was to be feared, and the gentle moth prince spent his evenings in lonely solitude.

He was not always like this, of course. There was a time when he was just a boy with black hair, who loved and lost like the rest of us. Knives and blades and wings and boys. 

Boy, not boys. 

There was only one boy the moth prince loved- cherished, adored. 

The first time he met the boy they’d fought- as boys do. With sparks from their swords flying around them like magic. Like the world was singing their love song in the only way it knew- fire.

The second time they met it was with an ache of familiarity. Their souls knew one another, but their bodies didn’t. One stranger, one lover, same hurt.

The third time it was easier, lovelier. Fire crackled a familiar tune. Knives and blades and wings and boys. 

It was tradition.    
  
  


Lance, a bright and beautiful flame.

And Keith, nothing but a helpless moth.

In this life he was exactly that. A moth prince- a soft thing with sharp teeth. And there was Lance. Not human, for humans did not glow nor did they paint stars on their cheeks. He was something harder, pointed ears and nimble feet.

But did it matter? Does it matter? Will it matter?

As the moth prince wraps his arms around his lover’s neck and bumps their foreheads against one another and whispers  _ Light of my life _ does it matter whether his lover is human, flame or other?

Does it matter when his lovers waltzes them through the forest, never letting go, glowing all the while, and whispers  _ I love you I love you _ more than one could ever count?

When the moth prince spreads his soft beige wings and lifts them up, up, up where they waltz in the air, drunk on love and tenderness, will it matter? Does it matter? Did it matter?

Tradition, tradition. Keith is drawn to Lance like a moth to a flame, and in every life this will stay the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt list here: https://www.instagram.com/p/B43ggTVh8Gk/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
> 
> or, in order
> 
> 1\. First snow  
> 2\. Sweaters  
> 3\. Home  
> 4\. By the fire  
> 5\. Baking  
> 6\. Distance  
> 7\. Decorating  
> 8\. Skating/Sledding/Skiing  
> 9\. Song inspired  
> 10\. Presents  
> 11\. Stars  
> 12\. Future  
> 13\. Grinch  
> 14\. Letters  
> 15\. Elves/North Pole  
> 16\. Traditions  
> 17\. Cuddles  
> 18\. Cafe/Hot drinks  
> 19\. Christmas lights  
> 20\. Angels  
> 21\. Christmas in Space  
> 22\. Party  
> 23\. Secret Santa  
> 24\. Mistletoe  
> 25\. Christmas Morning/day/night  
> 26\. Hot Christmas (for us down under folk)  
> 27\. Naughty/Nice  
> 28\. Movie Night  
> 29\. Snowed in  
> 30\. Memories  
> 31\. Midnight kiss


End file.
